


All That Glitters Is Not Gold

by veronamay



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Bertie POV, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-04
Updated: 2005-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeeves doesn't want tips from Bertie anymore.  What could he want instead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Glitters Is Not Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the habit that Bertie and the gang have of giving Jeeves a little (or a lot) extra in his pay packet whenever he scoops them out of a particularly hairy prob. My initial inspiration came from the end scene in "Bingo Has A Bad Goodwood" from "The Inimitable Jeeves", wherein Bertie gives Jeeves a twenty-pound tip.
> 
> Words cannot adequately express my gratitude to [](http://cicerothewriter.livejournal.com/profile)[**cicerothewriter**](http://cicerothewriter.livejournal.com/) and [](http://innocentsmith.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://innocentsmith.livejournal.com/)**innocentsmith** for absolutely amazing beta-reading and discussion. This story wouldn't exist without them. I salute you both, old things.

It wasn't until after Aunt Agatha's third attempt to chain me to Honoria Glossop that I suspected something was rotten in the state of Jeeves. The honest fellow had worked his sterling magic as per the norm, and Bertram was once more at liberty, not bearing a scratch beyond a lingering tendency to flinch at the mention of strolls in moonlit gardens. On the day in question, Jeeves had just gracefully decanted the Glossop into the hallway and was standing at parade rest, an exuberant half-curl to his mouth, as I waxed eloquent _in re_ the grey matter he houses upstairs.

"And Jeeves," I said, "I shall be padding out the monthly stipend with an extra something or other, to show my appreciation in a material sense."

There was a long pause.

"Thank you very much, sir," Jeeves said.

His tone being somewhat lacking in vim and vigour, I had a quick shufti at his face. It was like looking at one of those marble statue chaps you find standing about in gardens, looking blank and long-suffering and so forth, with perhaps a hint of righteous anger for flavour. Of course Jeeves carried it off better than they did, but the sight nevertheless gave me the pip.

"You are displeased with something, Jeeves?" I asked coolly.

"No, sir. I am delighted as always to have given satisfaction."

He was already back to sporting his stuffed-frog expression, but I had seen too much. His nostrils flared in high dudgeon as he saw that I had pierced his mask of in-something. Insensibility? No, that's not it. Indecipherability? Inscrutability, that's the one.

"Come now, Jeeves," I said, sitting upright on the sofa. "You never kick at getting a bit more of the ready in these circs. Bingo Little must have given you a hundred quid in the past year alone. And Gussie Fink-Nottle probably paid for your entire summer wardrobe." I looked at him with a shrewd eye. "To what do you attribute this sudden objection?"

Jeeves stiffened ever so slightly, and I sensed I was onto something important. He is well able to disguise his feelings from society at large, but I know Jeeves well enough to detect when he is riled. Turbulent waters, by Jove.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he replied. "The implication that I am insulted by the remuneration proffered by your friends is, I fear, incorrect. Although being asked for my assistance is in itself adequate recompense, I am pleased to accept a monetary form of gratitude. It is only fitting from those gentlemen, sir."

There was a meaningful undertone to his words that I didn't quite grasp. It rather sounded like he was in a snit. Not possible, many would say, but then not many have ever done battle with Jeeves over a white mess jacket with brass buttons. The man packs a wealth of meaning into the flick of an eyebrow.

It has been well said that a Wooster does not shy away from a challenge, especially when it involves keeping a jewel like Jeeves content. I therefore puzzled my way keenly through this verbal minefield, spotting the flaw in his argument at once.

"So you're not ticked off when they bung the cash at you, but when it comes from your rightful employer you retreat into a hurt and icy silence. What, may I ask, is the fly in your ointment, Jeeves? You think perhaps that I don't appreciate you as much as those other fellows do?"

His gaze became distinctly glacial, and he pressed his lips together so hard his mouth just about disappeared. I half expected him to say, 'Buzz off!', or something of that sort. I was astounded at this unprecedented show of temper, and Jeeves's next words only pricked at me further.

"I assure you, sir," he said, "I am quite sensible of your regard, despite how you choose to show it."

In addition to the m. u. mentioned above, there was now a decidedly rummy look in his eye that made me do one of those classic double-takes you see chaps do in the cinema when a pretty woman walks by. I'd bet a fiver that Jeeves was practically quivering with the urge to sock me.

"What exactly do you mean by that remark, Jeeves?"

"Which remark, sir?"

He had the nerve to paste an inquiring look on his face, as if he hadn't just curled his lip at me. Not literally, of course, because his expression never changes, but it was there in his speech, implying that ... well, I don't know what he was implying exactly, but I took it to be opprobrious. I know when I'm being sneered at, and I dashed well wasn't going to take it from Jeeves without an explanation.

"You know very well which remark, Jeeves," I said. "I am always effusive in my thanks whenever you lever me out of the swamp of unwanted engagement, and so forth. You know this. What I want to know is why I am suddenly _persona non grata_ for doing so."

"I do apologise, sir," Jeeves said, his voice so smooth I knew he was lying through his teeth. "You have indeed been exceedingly generous on every such occasion. I dare say that whatever dissatisfaction you perceive in my manner is entirely of your own creation."

Of all the bally nerve! The blighter was definitely thumbing his nose at me. My blood up and ready to boil, I opened my mouth to take him down a peg or two about respecting the young master, but before I could get warmed up he murmured a quiet, "Excuse me, sir, I must prepare your luncheon," and floated off to the kitchen, leaving me covered in confusion. What the devil was going on?  


* * *

I never know just how much detail to shove into these things when I'm describing the effects a _contretemps_ has on one's otherwise vivacious personality. Some fellows believe that the less said about the softer emotions, the better, while other chaps want to know all about the gnashing of teeth and soppy-letter-writing and whatnot. I generally like to take a middle ground between these two extremes, but on this occasion it is hard to keep one's perspective. I suppose I shall just have to bash the words out any way I can and hope that you don't cry, 'What rot, Wooster! Begone with you!' and hurl the thing out the window.

Jeeves's manner continued stiff and begrudging, if begrudging is the word I want, for the next few days. Feeling unfairly wronged, I spent quite a bit of time wandering the moors with drawn aspect and heavy tread, or rather sitting on a bench in the park, trying to get to the bottom of it all. What could I have done to bring about these icy temps in the family home? I had thought things were biffing along quite well. There had been no serious rift between Jeeves and self since the unfortunate matter of the banjolele, aside from minor matters like scarlet cummerbunds and Alpine hats, and I hadn't bought so much as a handkerchief without his approval in weeks. I was stymied.

Jeeves had said something about how I 'chose' to show my appreciation of his efforts on my behalf. This seemed to beg for closer inspection, so I cast the memory back and thought of all that his towering intellect had done for me over the years: Florence Craye, Madeline Basset, Honoria Glossop, the blasted cow-creamer, J Washburn Stoker, the black amber statuette, Roderick Spode and Eulalie, Honoria Glossop again ... the list was endless. He'd even obliged me by vanishing the eighteen pages he'd written about me in the Junior Ganymede club book. A very square thing to do, I felt, showing the proper feudal spirit, for I knew how much he esteemed the rules of that institution.

More to the point, it was an example of how matey our relations had become. Those pages are meant to be viewed by chaps looking for a new job, after all, and by absconding with them Jeeves had pretty much set our current posish in stone. A jolly good piece of luck for me, but I did wonder what Jeeves was getting out of it. The Wooster charm is considerable but it is not inexhaustible, as evidenced anytime I turn up on a friendly doorstep on a Friday for a weekend visit. By Sunday lunchtime I am being shown the train timetable with unflattering enthusiasm and subjected to exhortations about the benefits of rising early in the a.m. For Jeeves to have stuck with me for so long must point to something of value about me, though I was blowed if I could see it. I pay him a tidy sum, but he could get that anywhere. Still, there it was. Jeeves moved in mysterious ways his wonders to perform, and I was keen to simply bask in my good fortune and not look the gift valet in the mouth.

That brought my musing back to the matter at hand, viz. Jeeves's current discontent. I was stumped as to what had got in amongst him; on every occasion mentioned previously I had brimmed with fulsome praise and showered him with the folding riches, and he'd shown no hesitation in scooping up same. It appeared that he was no longer pleased to receive such gifts. I was obviously missing something important here, but it remained a mystery despite the best efforts of the Wooster brain.

On one morning that was entirely too full of chirping birdies, I was pretty far into the depths of thought and feeling pretty spiritless with it, when I realised my bench had been invaded and I was being what-hoed with gusto. I broke out of my reverie and saw Bingo Little grinning at me. Not at all the sort of thing that aids a chap's digestion, but I didn't have much of an appetite anyway.

"What's got into you, Bertie?" Bingo said. "I've been sitting here for five minutes trying to get your attention."

"I am thinking deep thoughts, Bingo," I said severely. "A man is permitted to review his life on occasion, is he not, without inciting comment from all and sundry?"

"Just as you like, Bertie, but I wouldn't do it in public if I were you. It makes you look frightfully stupid, having your mouth hanging open like that."

This was quite ripe, coming from young Bingo of all people, who sported the sappiest expressions I'd ever seen during his days as a ladies' man. But now that Mrs Bingo was on the scene he was what one might call a changed man. It was actually rather pleasant to pass the time of day with the blighter without him racing off to charm some beazel or other. One was now required to put up with some warbling about the joys of wedded bliss instead, but since that was due to the ceaseless toil of Jeeves and self he didn't throw too much of it in my direction, perhaps feeling that discretion was the better part of something-or-other.

Thinking of Mrs Bingo made me realise that here was the very chap I needed to solve the puzzle of Jeeves's pique. As implied above, Bingo had a long history of falling in love with waitresses and shopgirls and the like, and then losing them through some misfortune, usually when they discovered what a prize chump he is. The thing is, when in full swing there was no-one to equal Bingo's talent for softening up the fairer sex. I wondered if he might be able to shed some light on this Jeeves _debacle_. Not that I viewed Jeeves as a girl, but the man is possessed of a similar chilly temperament when given the pip. Being without options and keen on putting the situation to bed, I decided to put my case.

"I say, Bingo," I said, "I've got a bit of a problem. Could I bend your ear for a moment or two?"

"In the soup with Jeeves, are you?" Bingo asked. He wore a smirk on his dial that quite got my back up. My fingers itched to throw a brick or two.

"I beg your pardon?" I said coldly, and I meant it to sting.

"Bertie, whenever you've got a problem you take it to Jeeves, except when he's annoyed with you. I can't imagine why you'd be asking me otherwise. My advice to you, old man, is to get rid of the tie or the socks or whatever it is that Jeeves doesn't like, and you'll be as right as rain."

Marriage had sharpened the fellow's mind a bit. He could never have thought of that pre-Mrs Bingo.

"Would it were that simple, Bingo," I said, "but I can't fathom why he's upset in the first place. Let me give you the posish."

I ran through a synopsis and watched while Bingo tried to take it all in. I should imagine this is how Jeeves feels every time he explains one of his schemes to those of us not at his level of genius. Of course I can follow him most of the time, knowing his favoured _modus_ whatever-it-is, but it must be dashed vexing to waste all that time waiting for everyone else to catch up. I don't know where he gets all his patience.

"Well?" I demanded. "What do you make of it?"

Bingo was frowning, an expression I hadn't seen in years and didn't recommend for him now, as it made him look rather like a dyspeptic Pekinese. It did not bode well for my situation.

"I'm not sure about this, Bertie," he said doubtfully, "but it's the only thing I can come up with. You say Jeeves became miffed only when you mentioned slipping him an extra fiver in appreciation for his services? And that he denied this when you put it to him?"

"You surmise correctly, old son. He was distinctly affronted, and then he flat-out fibbed to my very face when I asked him what was wrong."

"But he has in the past been perfectly happy to accept that same cash in similar circs?"

"Well, not exactly that same cash, obviously, but you are otherwise on the mark. And he's always taken the stuff when it comes from third parties."

"Well then," Bingo said, "perhaps he's changed his mind and doesn't want it anymore."

I let loose with a derisive laugh.

"What rot! Of course he does. Well, not _wants_ precisely, since Jeeves never seems to want anything besides some Spinoza or Shakespeare now and then. But you have to have money to buy books, Bingo. Booksellers tend to give the gimlet eye to fellows who attempt to take away books without shoving mounds of dosh over the counter."

"All right, all right," Bingo said. He sounded a bit annoyed, actually. "What I mean to say is, maybe he doesn't want cash from _you_ anymore. We all tip him ridiculously well as it is. Maybe he wants something else from you in particular, and for you to figure out what it is by yourself. It loses some of the shine of the thing if he has to spell it out, do you see?"

There was yet another meaningful undertone in Bingo's speech, but I bypassed that in favour of staring at him in wonder.

"Bingo, that's positively brilliant," I said in a hushed voice. "Have you been eating fish?"

Bingo smiled modestly.

"I've been helping Rosie with her research," he said. "She's quite as interested as Jeeves in the psychology of the individual, you know. She says it's what's in our minds and our hearts that shapes the sort of person we become, so it's worth knowing as much as she can about that sort of thing to make her characters as real as possible. She says that's what gives them that extra bit of emotional oomph." He sighed lustily. "She's such a wonderful girl, Bertie, an absolute tender goddess. I can't remember what my life was without her."

"Well, bless you both," I said warmly. " _Rem acu tetigisti_ , Bingo, old chap."

"Quite," said Bingo, though he looked rather confused again.

"I wonder what he could be angling for instead, if it's not the golden fleece. Perhaps he wants an extra evening off here and there. I could certainly stretch to that."

"I'm sure you'll get it, whatever it is," Bingo said, but I could tell his mind was already back to praising the merits of Mrs Bingo, so I did not pursue the matter further. We parted shortly afterward with mutual invitations to dinner and so forth, and I legged it homeward, shoving the bean into top gear once more on the way.  


* * *

If Jeeves didn't want me to express my admiration with the cold hard stuff, I was rather stuck for an alternative. If Bingo was right I couldn't simply ask, because Jeeves rivals an ancient tomb for silence when pressed for details he does not wish to divulge, and besides, his wounded manner told me I should already know what bee was currently zipping round his bonnet. Admitting even implicitly that I was operating blind would be a bloomer of the first degree. No, I would have to earn the knowledge by the honest sweat of mental toil alone.

I furrowed the brow and slowed the stride to a thoughtful saunter to aid in the m. t. I needed to review the issue as would one of those detective chaps in the novels I like to read. Examine the evidence, draw a daring but logical conclusion and then Robert is one's mater's frater, as they say. Accordingly, I drew up a list in my head and titled it,

**EVIDENCE**

>   1. Jeeves is decidedly peeved at self.
>   
> 
>   2. The peevishness ensued when I offered him the shining plenty on account of his freeing me yet again from the clutches of Honoria Glossop.
>   3. The remarks made during this conversation directly point to Jeeves not appreciating my monetary attempt to appreciate him.
>   4. This is the first I've heard of any of it. He took a fiver from Tuppy Glossop only last week and never batted an eyelash.
>   5. So he's all right with scooping it up from fellows in general, it's just my money he doesn't want. Rum!
>   6. Well why not, blast it? I pay him a salary, so he takes money from me anyway. What _does_ he want, if not financial recompense? I have to give him something. He's not a slave, after all, or a wife ...
>   7. Oh. Oh, I _say_. Rather.
> 


Simple enough when one puts one's mind to it. Bertram's grey matter had delivered the goods in fine style. Now my only quandary, if quandary means what I think it does, was what to do with the results.

The Woosters are not a shy breed. We may not be the most sparkling diamonds in society's tiara, but neither are we shrinking violets, huddling in a dark corner while the rest of the world does a frisky two-step and dives into the punch bowl wearing a lampshade on its head. I have had my share of _affaires de coeur_ , having been engaged once or twice of my own free will, though I can't imagine what I was thinking at the time. Must have been some sort of fever.

Nonetheless, the idea of tripping home to Jeeves and trying to romance him struck me as being more than a bit thick. Jeeves had been with me for years, not a servant so much as a sort of friend and confidant, guiding my every move, my every foible known to him. How was I meant to suddenly don the rosebud and pour on the suavity and charm? Jeeves was not born yesterday. He'd see through me like I was made of glass, even with the Wooster subtlety turned up to the nines. No, I should have to think of some other wheeze to get things rolling in the right direction.

It occurred to me right about then, just as I was stepping through the downstairs lobby, that I had accepted the situation without a tremor. Hardly the normal reaction for a chap who's just discovered that his valet looks on him as more than an employer. The Woosters are undeniably hard to nonplus, but I hadn't even _blinked_.

The more I thought about it, now that I had thought about it, I couldn't see what there was to get tied up in knots about. Why in blazes _should_ I blink, dash it? Jeeves is godlike in appearance as well as intellect, meaning that while his head bulges out in the back it is also covered in a good deal of dark silky hair. It came to me in a flash that I would enjoy, nay, _leap_ upon the opportunity to stroke that hair. Long-time readers will remember my previous notations about the fellow's height, general structure and fine, noble features; not exactly the stuff of matinee idols, perhaps, but I'd always considered him rather well put together. Further than that I had not ventured to go until this moment. It's not cricket to moon after one's domestic staff, you see. But Jeeves, being Jeeves, was definitely an exception to the rule, as I was quickly discovering. Visions of broad shoulders and large, capable hands began to swim in my mind's eye, and I wished briefly that I had thought to have this revelation somewhere less public. The break of trouser cuff over instep was irreparably ruined.

It is well-known amongst the _cognoscenti_ that I have held Jeeves in the highest esteem since he entered my employment. Add my admiration of his brainpower to his obvious devotion to my wellbeing, and this newfound appreciation for his physical charms, and the conclusion was simplicity itself. All in all, the idea of snuggling up to that strong, tall frame in a somewhat cosier state of domestic bliss seemed like just the ticket.

I stepped lightly upstairs with this subj. uppermost in mind, determined to beard Jeeves in his lair or perish in the attempt. I felt quite like one of those knight chappies of old trying to win the fair maiden – or valet – of his dreams. Rather dashing, and all that.

He was in the kitchen polishing the silver. I sailed in and perched the slender and willowy f. on a chair, affecting insouciance and trying to ignore the inflammatory sight of Jeeves in shirtsleeves and apron.

"Do you mind if I interrupt, Jeeves? I want to discuss something with you."

"One moment, sir."

He finished buffing a cheese knife, taking a dashed long time about it before he turned to face me.

"What would you like to discuss, sir?" he asked politely. The aforementioned fine and noble features were as blank as a painter's canvas, and I saw that I had a great deal of work to do to fix my floater.

I took a breath and wished I'd thought to have a quick bracer in the living room. I'd done this before, of course, but never without some lubrication to bolster the spirits. This sort of conversation makes a fellow feel a bit of an ass, which is why I advocate a bash at the sauce first to tone down the impulse to blush. Still, no help for it now, unless I wanted to lunge past Jeeves to get at the cooking sherry. I pushed ahead at full speed.

"I have been thinking, Jeeves. I have been pondering. And I believe I have arrived at the correct answer to the puzzle of your earlier displeasure, as you no doubt intended I should. In short, I was just wondering," I said, inspecting my fingernails, "whether you'd prefer to honeymoon in Monte Carlo or Cuba. Or perhaps another world cruise?"

Jeeves stared at me for a goodish stretch, looking more like a marble statue than ever. I stifled the urge to cough or shuffle my feet, but it was dashed difficult. No girl ever made me wait this long before issuing forth the blushing acceptance of Bertram's hand. Finally he pushed his chair back, putting down the rag and polish and placing his hands flat on the table.

"I'm afraid I don't understand you, sir," Jeeves said at last, and my heart plummeted south.

I was flummoxed for a moment, thinking I'd gone and foxed the thing and now he was sure to hand in his portfolio, but then I noticed something peculiar. It was his hands, you see. His face and voice were pure Jeevesian correctness, but even pressed flat his hands were trembling like billy-oh. He could've mixed a martini without moving a muscle.

I smiled with perfect confidence.

"Don't be an ass, Jeeves," I said. "You've been doing this iceberg gag for days because I'm a prize idiot, not noticing the change in our relations to something warmer and deeper than mere friendship. Not surprising given my history in these matters, what? Despairing of my ever figuring it out, you threw me a sizeable hint. Lo and behold, I caught it, and now there's nothing to do but open the champagne and book a double berth on some seafaring vessel. Which brings me back to the question in question: where is our destination to be?"

Again Jeeves subjected me to one of those long stares, but this time my steely resolve held firm. It isn't often that I know I'm on top of things with Jeeves, but now I had him dead to rights and I wasn't going to yield, by jingo. My conviction was upheld in the next instant when he stood up, untied the apron from his waist, folded it and put it on the kitchen bench. As a sort of surrender, if I perceived him correctly.

"I fancy Venice for the occasion, if you've no objection," he said evenly. "I'm told it is a beautiful city for lovers. There is a particular cruise via the Mediterranean which would afford a pleasant aspect on the trip."

"Jolly good." I got up and dusted off my hands. "That's settled, then. I'm sorry I was such a dunce about it, Jeeves, but we got there in the end, eh? I must ring Bingo and thank him." I took a step toward the door.

Jeeves cleared his throat, not at all like a sheep softly coughing on a misty hillside, but rather a determined and forceful sound, like one of those Spanish bulls right before it charges down the street trying to trample everything in its path. It brought me up short.

"I rather think," said Jeeves, "that your telephone call to Mr Little will have to wait."

He had the rummiest look on his face, his eyes fixed square on mine. Mesmerising, really. Made me quite shaky in the knee area. I'm not used to getting that sort of glance from chaps, or girls either, come to think of it. Any admiration flung my way is usually of the cerebral or drippily heartfelt kind, unless it's from Florence Craye, who manages to combine the two in a frightening combination. Jeeves, on the other hand, bore an air of quiet stillness that rumbled with thunder, like an approaching storm.

He reached for the chair he'd been sitting on and thrust it off to the side, then before I could bless myself he was pulling me into close quarters and drinking deep of my bounty, and I rather lost track of my faculties for a while.  


* * *

I'm not ordinarily one of those birds who go about with heart on sleeve. I have fallen prey to impulses of the warmer sort once or twice, but never have I overstepped the mark. A Wooster does not fling himself on an adored object without a by-your-leave. No true _preux chevalier_ throws the focus of his being down onto the nearest flat surface and proceeds to ravage. An Old Etonian would never overwhelm his one true love with his superior height and weight, thus rendering the other helpless and quivering beneath him.

Fortunately, Jeeves is none of the above. A less astute observer might think otherwise, but trust me, the man is a mass of seething passions beneath that calm exterior.

Take, for example, the aforementioned posish. In a move that thrilled me to my fingertips, Jeeves swept the kitchen table clear with a single shove of his arm, sending my dreaded Aunt Charlotte's sterling silver tea service flying across the room. Then he stretched me out upon said table and immediately began kissing my neck from jawline to collarbone. Finding this activity several thousand kinds of agreeable, I accordingly let out a moan of such depth and timbre it nearly rattled the pots off their hooks. The effect it had on Jeeves was even more startling. His head shot up and he loomed over me in a dashed exciting way, eyes ablaze with lust, hands gripping me tightly in places to which I seldom allude. There was a sharp, earthy smell coming off him in waves that made me want to bury my face in his neck and breathe in deep, but he held me so tightly I couldn't move.

"If you continue to make that noise, sir," he breathed, "I shall not be responsible for my actions."

What-ho, I thought. Excellent. Sally forth, and so on.

"Then I'm afraid you shall have to gag me, Jeeves," I said, and I'm blowed if his eyes didn't nearly set me on fire.

I wasn't quite sure what had set him off, but I wasn't going to quibble about it. I'd never seen Jeeves so much as gasp in all our years together, but right now he was heaving like a bellows, his face flushed and the brow fronting that magnificent brain bedewed with the old persp. I was pretty well chuffed at this evidence of Cupid's handiwork, but I didn't have time to broach the subj. before Jeeves swooped down upon me again. Since this was in line with my own ideas, but being without the practical knowledge to do more than writhe in ecstasy, I thought it best to continue voicing my appreciation and let him take charge.

In absolutely no time he bared my upper half and commenced a stroking motion over my chest, rather like petting one's cat. I won't go into the details of how it felt to be fondled thus, but I was thrashing and writhing about on the table in pretty short order, while he caressed me and whispered the fruitier parts of Plato's _Symposium_ in my shell-like ear. I must say, I'd never felt anything so topping in all my life. I arched up and grabbed at him, wanting no distance between us, and when he fell atop me the heat and weight of him made me cry out in shocked delight.

"Oh, my G— are you all right, sir?" Jeeves gasped. He pulled away to look at me, concern and desire writ in flashing neon on his features.

"Fine, I'm fine! Never better. Kiss me, Jeeves!"

I sank my hands into his hair and yanked him back down. Jeeves got back into the spirit of things rather quickly, kissing me as requested until I was dizzy, pressing his hips into mine, and so forth. I don't mind saying it was pretty exciting to feel how much he wanted me. Wishing to return the favour, I raised the lower limbs and wrapped them round his waist in order to keep him close. Jeeves reared back and pulled us upright, adding to the pressure in certain delicate areas and making me – well, sort of desperate. Wild and feverish, I mean to say.

"Jeeves," I breathed, liberating my mouth for a moment. "I feel quite—"

"Yes, sir," he said, sounding pretty wild himself. "Should I...?"

"Anything, Jeeves!"

He fumbled – fumbled, I say! – briefly between our bodies, and then the buttons on my trousers gave way. A moment later Jeeves had freed us both from our cottony and betwilled confines. I gasped again as he did so, his touch on my bare nether regions ratcheting the whole thing up a notch or two.

"If you would put your hands on my shoulders, sir...."

I obediently slid the appendages in the desired direction, taking note of the fine musculature beneath his clothing as I went. I'd always suspected Jeeves was a fellow of more than mental prowess, and here was proof. All those summer holidays spent hauling shrimp nets had built up more than his character, by Jove. I rather wanted to see the evidence, but with his mouth so handy I simply had to kiss him again, and I couldn't kiss and undress him at the same time.

The dilemma melted away in the next moment, when Jeeves touched me again. He did it the way he does everything: quietly, without fanfare and providing total bally satisfaction. I looked down and saw him encircle us both in his large hand, caressing, squeezing and generally making me want to burst out of myself in ecstasy. 'Strong words, Wooster!' you might be thinking, but I stand by them. Jeeves worked his magic with every careful stroke, sending great crashing waves of sensation singing through me, bringing us both to ever-higher peaks of delight until he stroked me right over the edge of a great fall that I didn't even know was there, and caught me again at the bottom of it. I speak figuratively, of course, but you get the idea.

I clung to him and shivered my way through the aftermath, thinking that if this was the Paradise all those poets went on about, it's no wonder everyone considered them barking mad. You can't describe this sort of thing in words, you see. Everything gets all tangled up between the head and the fingers, and before you know it you've joined the ranks of those ghastly scribblers of rhyme. I just hope you've had the good fortune to experience it for yourself, or else you'll be left scratching your head while the rest of us carry on.

"Good Lord, Jeeves," I said after I'd got my breath back. "I mean to say ... it's all rather ... well, I'm not about to descend into sonnet-writing or anything, you understand, but ... dash it all! What I'm trying to say is, I thought that was bally marvellous."

I was resting comfortably against his shoulder, my head tucked in beneath his ear, inhaling great lungfuls of that wonderful scent of his. Jeeves didn't seem to mind the circs at all, for his arms were clamped tight round my waist and he was doing some heavy breathing of his own.

"Indeed, sir," he replied. "The phenomenon does affect some people more strongly than others, but in this case I quite concur."

"Is that your way of saying, 'Me too, by George!', Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir."

"I thought so. Mmmm."

I snuggled in closer, sliding my arms down to the small of his back. There was a fair bit of naked skin there, where his shirt had come untucked. I put my hands to the spot, rubbing lightly, and felt Jeeves shiver. His hands were busy again also, moving over my back in the most wonderful way. I tightened my legs about him and pressed a kiss to his neck.

"Are you comfortable, Jeeves?"

"Eminently so, sir. I would suggest that we move to a more convenient location at some stage, but I confess I do not wish to do so as yet."

"Right-ho," I said contentedly, and closed my eyes for a bit. This sort of activity drains a fellow, you know.

Some indeterminate time later Jeeves let loose a sigh and ceased his gentle caresses. I woke out of my reverie and sat back, stifling a well-earned yawn. Jeeves gazed at me with one corner of his mouth quirked in a riot of hilarity.

"Something amuses you, Jeeves?" I asked, cocking a jaunty eyebrow.

He put his hands on my thighs and leaned in to steal a kiss.

"Not amusement, sir, but wonder," he corrected. "I have often dreamt of seeing you thus, and now that the reality is before me I find it quite outstrips my imaginings."

"Consider the sentiment returned in spades, Jeeves," I said. "You've no idea how often I've felt the urge to ruffle your hair, or curl up near you of an evening with a good book. And I may be new to this carnal knowledge bit, but you can rest assured it is henceforth added to the list. Rather near the top, I should say, with lots of repetition and experimentation."

Jeeves clutched my thighs and cleared his throat in a significant manner.

"You are most welcome to undertake such activities any time we are in private, sir," he said, sounding rather interested. "I would not, however, recommend such behaviour elsewhere. I fear it would raise uncomfortable questions."

"Quite," I agreed. "I don't plan to go strolling about like this in public, of course. But at home, Jeeves, I am entirely at your disposal."

I beamed at him, fully awake again and overflowing with good will toward my fellow man. Jeeves fell silent, his expression one that I was quick to recognise. My heart began a rhythm not unrelated to a brisk foxtrot.

"As regards our current schedule, sir," he said, drawing me back to him and placing his hands beneath that seldom-alluded-to place, "I believe it would be prudent to send a telegram to Mrs Travers informing her that you will be unable to drive to Brinkley Court later this afternoon as planned."

"Why not? There's nothing stopping us," I said, ever keen to get within reach of Anatole's masterful creations.

"I'm afraid I must insist on it, sir," Jeeves said, and lifted me clear off the table into his arms. "I have a list of my own, you understand, and we have barely checked the first item on it."

All the blood left my head in a dashed hurry and sped for parts further south.

"In other words, you're not finished with me yet, and I shouldn't plan on going anywhere anytime soon?" I asked, clinging on for dear life as he headed for the door.

"Well put, sir," he said, tripping at a flattering pace through the living room. "You take my meaning exactly."

"But, Jeeves ... the wire?" I protested weakly. One shouldn't be a total pushover in these matters, after all.

"You could telephone it through later on, sir, or I would be happy to perform the service for you. Right now, however—"

He proceeded to shove open the bedroom door and tip me in a quivering heap on the master bed, from whence I did not rise for many hours.  


* * *

Jeeves tells me it's not sporting to report on all the details of that afternoon, and in the spirit of obliging one's spouse I shall therefore skip over the fruitier parts and let you assume that one was bally well satisfied beyond bearing. At the risk of bringing a tinge of delicate rose to Jeeves's damask cheek, I will disclose that I now enjoy a whole new understanding of Damon and Pythias and all those other Greek chappies, and at the moment of going to press Jeeves is all fired up to expand my education further in that direction. I must say, his methods of teaching are a fair stretch above anything I learned in school. But that's only to be expected, isn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> I totally stole an image from [](http://janedavitt.livejournal.com/profile)[**janedavitt**](http://janedavitt.livejournal.com/)'s story [Jeeves Lends A Hand](http://www.livejournal.com/community/vintagefic/10095.html#cutid1). Those of you who've read it will know which one. Those who haven't, go read it now; you won't be disappointed.


End file.
